Survival

Chapter 8: Recollections

'Pain. So much pain. Can't breath! Why is pitch black? Wait, Pitch!' Jack came to, chest heaving in an effort to suck in as much oxygen as possible. His eyes shot open and noticed that for the first time since his capture that the torches were not lit and he was alone. All alone. And in pain. Not as much as he should have been in though. Looking down, he noticed a small sea of blood collected beneath him. 'How am I even alive?!' Paying closer attention to himself he could feel a knitting sensation in his chest. It felt as though a lung was being put back together which would explain his erratic breathing. There was no sound except the slow, steady drips of crimson joining their brothers below. His gashes on his front also seemed to be congealing and freezing over. Strange. It was still a new sensation to the winter spirit; un-frozen blood. Before, when he was a newly awakened spirit he had gotten cut on branches and things but they never bleed. There would just be frozen purple peaking out from the jagged edges of his skin. It had all changed once he became a Guardian though. Something caused his blood to thaw and actually circulate through his corps-like body. He had first noticed it when he was driven to cutting himself again after taking the oath to protect the children.

The first time he had ever cut was after the blizzard of '68, but his blood had still been frozen then. After over 250 years of no direct interaction with a single living creature Jack was desperate for recognition and the thought of maybe even being able to touch someone. He needed proof that he existed and was not just a figure of speech. He was not just a phantom damned to roam the earth utterly alone for the rest of eternity was he? He must have a purpose! If only MIM would tell him what it was. Why him? What had he done to deserve this eternal punishment? He must have been a terrible person in mortality to bring this harsh judgment upon himself. Maybe someone else could tell him what his purpose was.

That fated April, he decided to try and interact with one of the legends the children always talked about: The Easter Bunny. They must be real! Millions of children believed in them! How to get the Easter Bunny's attention though? Something different from the normal Easter Sunday should surely work! With not much to work with, Jack poured his hopes and dreams into a small snow storm over a tiny town in the Connecticut that needed the snow melt. 'I just need to cover the area in a blanket so it will surprise the Easter Bunny and he will notice me! It would even be fun for the kids! Colorful eggs stand out better against white.' With that thought fueling his long repressed desire he continued to pour out his soul into the snow making, eyes closed in anticipation. When he opened them, a horrifying sight met his once hopeful gaze: a raging blizzard had gone out of control burying the entire town and it's outreaches. Desperate to try and call it back in under submission he only made it worse. It just continued to grow. He had put so much heart and energy into it that it raged on unchecked.

Tragedy was the result. The storm had covered the entire United States, Canada and was encroaching into Mexico. Some tendrils even reached across the Atlantic to torment parts of England, Scotland, Ireland and Norway. There was nothing Jack could do. It was too much too fast. Easter was ruined. As Jack landed on the frozen ground that used to be covered in green and pale pinks he heard a gruff voice call out from behind him. It couldn't be talking to him, he was invisible! But there it was again!

"What'cha ya think you're doin'?"

What a strange accent! He had heard it before but Jack did not usually spend a lot of time in Australia. A little warm for him usually. He turned with wide eyes to see the magnificent form of a 6'1" tall rabbit with beautiful marking covering his grey fun. 'The Easter Bunny! I knew he was real!'

"Jack Frost."

Jack could not help but feel the warmth of realization flooded through him. "Y-you k-know my name?" The hopeful tone was quickly shattered as Bunnymund cut in.

"A'course I do. Every spirit does. Yer a bloody nuisance to most'a us at best. I knew yer was good fo' nothin', but this is downrigh' evil! Wha' was ya thinkin'?! Ya ruined Easter and killed thousands o' people!" He was livid. How could a spirit be so selfish as to destroy his holiday, and so evil as to take the lives of so many innocent people all in one go! "Yer the most selfish spirit I've eva met. Yer worse than useless! Do everyone a favor and get lost, ya bloody bit'a Frostbite. Everyone'l be better for it!"

They knew. They all knew about him but ignored him. He was so disappointing and selfish that they never even bothered to say 'hello.' No wonder no one ever acknowledged him. He deserved it. 'I guess it is selfish to want to be seen by others, to be believed in. I don't deserve happiness or hope. I deserve this. I'm evil. Everyone will be safer if I just disappear.' With that last thought ringing through his mind be flew off leaving an irate rabbit behind. He flew 'till he dropped from exhaustion right into a snow drift. With no idea where he was he just curled up under a tree and cried. Nothing could stop the tears from running down his frozen face, stopping in their tracks when they became the same temperature as his skin. He was evil. There was nothing he could do to bring back the people he had murdered. It was all his fault. He deserved pain.

Just then, an icicle from the tree he was under broke and fell, point down in the snow next to his head. It sparked an idea. If he deserved pain, then he shall have pain. In token of the lives lost he would scar himself so as to never forget them. Always remember the screw-up that he was. The murderer he had become. Sure people had died before from his winter chills and starved from his snow barricading them indoors, but never on this scale. The good and joy he had brought had been in balance with his bad. But not anymore. Now he was just evil.

Anticipation was ringing through his veins as he positioned the shard. The icicle stung as he drug it through his wrist. It was a strange sound as it cut through his cold flesh and frozen blood. Slightly crunchy. But now he would always remember. All he would have to do is look under his sleeve at the mark to remember what he was. He was evil, and there was nothing he could do to atone for the wrongs he had done. Ever since then, whenever his powers got out of control causing others to perish, he would make another mark. A remembrance of the deeds he had done. The mistakes he always seemed to make. The messes he made. He could forget about them for a while while he played with children around the world, but something always went wrong eventually.

This way of thinking changed slightly after he became a Guardian. His powers were in better control now that he had North and Bunny to ask advice from once and a while or spar against, but he was in no means perfect. Also, he had a few of his memories back. Pippa, his little sister, had become his strength, his purpose. Whenever he felt the need to cut, he would think of her. Sometimes it wasn't enough, but those moments came less and less often. Now, whenever he could not suppress the needed of relief from the pressures of never letting anyone down or hurting them, the cuts would flow. It was strange feeling, liquid blood, but so much more fulfilling than just the sting of splitting flesh. He no longer needed reassurance that he existed, but they still helped him cope. At least, he thought they did. Until an image of Pippa would flash in his mind and he would be ashamed. She was his reason he was fighting back against Pitch. He had her, had saved her no matter what Pitch did to twist that memory. He could do this. 'I'll survive this and make sure this never happens to any other child. No matter what Pitch does, I am not worthless or useless. The Guardians will come. I have a place I belong now.'

Dragging himself out of his musings, resolve solidified, Jack concentrated on the feeling of being healed. It was another new sensation. How is this possible? I didn't know I had healing abilities. You would have thought they would have kicked in sooner! Well, better now than never I suppose.

A blood-chilling finger ran down his spine as he heard a deep-throated chuckle reverberate inside the small room. Pitch was back.

A/N Thank you so much for your reviews! They are my motivation. School is out right now which is why I can update so fast. Also, I don't think fic will be ending too soon. Pitch still needs more play time...